Last Chance At Happiness
by sportsnightnut
Summary: "It'll be okay," he says, and even though he can't promise that, those words rest well in her soul. My take on the events leading up to and during the Pilot. Alicia/Will.


**Author's Note: **Hi everyone! As promised, a longer fic! Hooray! This is the first time in a _long_ time I've written anything of this length, so it's a little scary for me to hit "publish." But those of you who have reviewed "Love, Loss, Together, Apart" will hopefully enjoy this! It is quite a bit longer than 100 words. ;)

It takes place leading up to and during 1.1. All italics are Will's thoughts.

Another note-a lot of the sentences in here are what I consider "stream of consciousness" sentences where they may not make perfect sense grammatically but make sense in the heads of these characters. I think you'll understand what I mean when you read them, but I wanted to mention that so you didn't think I never learned the proper use of commas and periods. ;)

I look forward to your reviews! Thanks for reading!

p.s. This is dedicated to **StrawberrySab**, who was very encouraging in reviewing the work I've posted so far :)

**Disclaimer:** _The Good Wife_ isn't mine, nor are Will and Alicia. Sadly. Peter's press conference speech is taken directly from the Pilot episode and does not belong to me, either.

* * *

Will Gardner is sitting alone in his office at 3:00pm on a Tuesday when he hears the news that changes the course of the rest of his life.

It's not news that changes his life immediately, mind you, but instead sets off a series of events that lead him to be the happiest he's ever been.

But more on that later.

* * *

It's spring in Chicago. The gray, disgusting, bone-chilling slush of winter has melted and all he can see from the window of his office are things that represent new beginnings-green leaves, buds on trees, flowers waiting to bloom.

Ironic, then, that the news he's about to receive is about the end of his friend's life as she knows it.

It's Diane who tells him, pokes her head into his office, says something about the state's attorney and a "scandal" and he knows it has to do with sex.

_The slimy, disgusting, son of a bitch._

Diane says something about corruption, but he knows-

-and not just his brain, either, but that place in his heart where he knows her-

it's more than that.

An hour later, he tells Diane he's going to head home and work from there for the afternoon.

* * *

He sits on his couch and watches the news, flicks through the channels, sees the crawl on the bottom of the screen on CNBC.

_Florrick. Sex. Scandal. Corruption._

Will throws a stack of files on the floor. The room has grown too dark for him to read by only the light of the television. His socks make a quiet padding sound against the hardwood floor as he walks to the fridge for a beer. He grabs a bottle opener and flicks the cap off onto the counter, listening as metal hits granite.

He pads back to the living room, not bothering to turn on the lights, but instead sits in the glow of the television, his heart aching for his friend.

_Alicia._

* * *

He remembers meeting her for the first time, at a party for the 1Ls. She wore a flowy red sundress and flip flops, a glass of wine in her hand. Her brown hair was a little longer then, and he remembers thinking how soft it must be, how good it must smell.

They talked long into the night, their feet delicately splashing the smooth surface of water in the pool. He snagged two bottles of wine they shared between them; he felt more intoxicated that night than ever before in his life, and hasn't felt that way since.

But it wasn't just the sweet white wine, it was her. Alicia Cavanaugh. Beautiful, sweet, smart Alicia.

No one would have pegged Will Gardner for a guy who'd fall in love at first sight, and he would have laughed if you had described him that way. But that night, sitting with her next to the pool, half-drunk on Riesling, half-drunk on her honeyed laugh-love wouldn't have been an inaccurate way to describe how he felt.

* * *

They spent the next three years inseparable. Late nights at the library. Early mornings at Starbucks. Mock trials. Friday night parties. Exams. Basketball games. Papers.

It was a friendship incomparable to any other he'd had in his life. He often wondered how it was possible that this wondrous human being found him worthy of her time and friendship.

He didn't know this, but she often wondered how it was possible that Will Gardner had noticed her.

Had he known, Will would have laughed. It was impossible _not_ to notice Alicia Cavanaugh. When she walked into a room, it was like everything else turned to black and white and she was the only thing in color.

* * *

Will grabs another beer from the fridge.

* * *

It's not that he and Alicia had never considered being more than friends; they had, many times. Stolen kisses, hand-holding, accidental brushing of arms or hands or feet.

There was a spark between them that threatened to ignite a flame.

But their friendship was too precious, too perfect to risk for something that might result in one night of passion and a lifetime of awkwardness. And they had school to think about; prestigious summer internships, the bar exam, job applications. Losing their focus on the end goal would have been foolish.

Had they both been single when they finished law school, it likely would've happened. What would have stopped it?

Will saw the wide open road in front of them; all the possibilities in life theirs for the taking. He saw them becoming junior associates together, maybe someday partners in their own firm, getting married, having adorable brunette babies together, growing old and reminiscing about the Georgetown days.

A few months before graduation, she met Peter Florrick.

_Bad timing. Just bad, bad timing._

* * *

Something about Peter has always rubbed Will the wrong way. He doesn't think he treats Alicia the way she deserves to be treated. Peter doesn't see her as a partner in life; he sees her instead as someone he could use to accomplish his goals. Little more than a puppet, really, a prop, a statue of a "good wife," a trophy he can display to his politician friends.

_His_ goals. Not her goals. Her goals be damned.

The permanent ache in Will's heart began around the time she told him she and Peter were engaged.

Fifteen years later, that ache is still there, in that place in his heart where he knows her.

* * *

Alicia's kind of love is different than Peter's. Her kind of love is the "in good times and in bad, all the days of my life" kind of love, the unconditional kind that involved promises she intended to keep.

Peter's kind of love neglected those promises and traded them for half-hearted apologies in the aftermath of the storm.

_There has to be some kind of exception for Alicia's kind of love. Some kind of clause that states "I'll keep those promises right up until the moment you become a lying, cheating, son of a bitch, then my obligations to you are over" kind of thing._

Will wants to believe there is. He wants to believe she will leave him, that she will think about herself for once, that she will finally get the kind of love she deserves-even more than that, the kind of love she has earned, just by being the kind of human being she is. Loving, compassionate, caring, always putting others first, always concerned about how everyone else is doing.

She made a sacrifice for Peter that he has never truly appreciated, and that he has completely disregarded in exchange for cheap, meaningless, disgusting sex.

* * *

Will grabs another beer from the fridge.

* * *

He knows it's not possible to take Peter out with the trash. He's been Alicia's life for over a decade now, and they have two kids together. Two beautiful, smart kids Will loves hearing about every time he and Alicia talk.

They're old enough to be pissed at their father but young enough to forgive him for what he's done, or at least young enough to love him in spite of it.

They'll be Alicia's rock in the coming days, the glue that holds her together when everything else is falling apart.

* * *

The last time Will saw Alicia wasn't that long ago. Two months, maybe. They were at a Georgetown alumni watch party at a bar downtown-the Hoyas had made it to the Sweet Sixteen. She wore an old law school t-shirt and jeans, her hair curled at the ends, a soft shade of orchid tinting her lips.

Alicia saved a seat for him, and they sat together and talked well into the night, long after the basketball game had ended. They munched on nachos and bought each other beers, and even had tequila shots for old times' sake.

Will tried to make her happy when they were together. He wanted her to feel important, loved, interesting. He told her about cases he was working on, and she hung onto every word that left his lips. He could tell she missed being a lawyer, and he couldn't blame her; it had once been their whole lives.

And she was brilliant, too. A brilliant, talented lawyer, talent that he feared had been wasted-not on having kids, really, but wasted for marrying Peter, for marrying a man who never really appreciated her and let her shine.

_She should be the one in the limelight, not him._

He remembers how they hugged at the end of the night before getting in separate cars; Alicia held on tight, just a little longer than planned, and Will could feel the sadness she never thought she had the right to express out loud.

_She was lonely._

He hoped she didn't regret any of her decisions, about Peter or the kids or the direction of her life. He sincerely doubted she did; the woman didn't have a selfish bone in her body, and regretting decisions that helped other people would be selfish beyond her abilities.

_But she could be sad._

And so Will hugged her back just a little tighter, that place in his heart where he knows her full of love. He hoped she could feel that love in his arms.

* * *

Will grabs another beer from the fridge.

At this point, he's three beers in; enough to know he's drank a little, but not enough to be remotely close to drunk. He picks up his phone and feels the weight of it in his palm, running his thumb lightly over the screen and the keys, wondering if he should call.

He wonders if she would understand, or if she would see it as a meaningless gesture, an obligation.

Peter's face pops up on Will's tv screen, and he wants to throw something at it, but it would just damage his television and not the man whose face is on the screen.

But if he could damage that man's face, he would.

If there was a way he could make Peter feel pain radiate from every bone in his body, he would do it.

Despite the different courses their lives took, despite the distance, despite the weeks or months they would sometimes go without talking, Alicia has never stopped being Will's friend, nor he hers. And he has never stopped feeling protective of her, especially of her heart, wanting deeply, more than anything, for her to be happy, even if that means being with Peter.

But she trusted Peter with her heart, and he has not only broken it, but he has also shattered her trust, torn their family apart in ways that can be mended but never fully repaired.

That place in his heart where he knows her aches for her, and so he decides to lift the phone from his palm to his ear and make the call.

* * *

Alicia answers the phone on the third ring.

"Hi," she says softly. He can hear everything she hasn't yet said in her voice, which is scratchy, likely from too many tears and overwhelming exhaustion.

"Hey, Leesh," he says, using her nickname, hoping it will make her smile.

He smiles, but sadly; the ache is ever-present.

"How was voir dire?" she asks, as if it's a completely normal thing to say, as if her family's private life isn't being broadcast all over Chicago right now and as if her husband isn't the biggest jackass on the planet.

He can't believe that in the midst of all she's going through, she remembers he started voir dire today for a major case he'd been prepping.

_That's Alicia Florrick for you._

So Will tells her all about it, hoping it will distract her, if only momentarily. She talks about Zach and Grace, and what they're working on in school, and how Grace is having trouble with Algebra and Zach wants to join the basketball team and it's all so normal it hurts. It's like any other conversation they've had in the past few months, except he can hear a hint of sadness in her voice, which only means her defenses are down.

She stops talking, and they sit together in silence for a moment, neither wanting to poke the elephant in the room.

_I can't very well just say hey, how's Peter? Saw him on tv today. Sounds like he's been a real dick._

Before he can say anything, she starts to speak.

"Will, I-" and then she stops.

He can hear her crying.

_Goddamnit, Peter, you son of a bitch._

"I know, Leesh, I know," he says, even though he doesn't really _know_, because his spouse didn't just cheat on him with someone and tear his family apart and break his heart, but he knows she's hurting, and he knows that _she_ knows that's what he meant.

"I know that people always wonder 'How didn't she know?' when there's some other woman, and I swear I've thought that before, that it would be impossible to not know, but now here I am, and I didn't know. I had no idea. And I feel like a goddamn idiot. Was I blind?"

Will shakes his head, even though she can't see it, and Alicia continues.

"Was it me? It had to be me. I know he said something about how it didn't mean anything, which might be true for him, but it meant something to me, Will. And I had to have done something to push him away, right? I mean..."

She trails off, and that place in his heart where he knows her is breaking.

"No. Please don't think that. You can't think that."

Alicia sniffles. "How?"

Will doesn't want to sound trite or cliché or any of the things he fears he's about to sound like, but he presses on anyway, wanting her to understand.

"Because you can't beat yourself up for the mistakes he made. He made them, not you. You are the most loving person I know, and there's no way that could have pushed him away."

_Goddamnit, Peter, you broke her._

"And because as your friend, I am obligated to say these things to you."

Alicia laughs a little through her tears, and there's a beat of silence before she speaks.

"Thanks for not asking how I'm doing," she says.

Will chuckles, sadly. "I didn't think there was a point."

"I know," she says, and sighs a little. "But that's what everyone else is asking me, because they don't know what to say or how to act around me, and somehow they think that asking me how I'm doing is a reasonable question, on the day I found out that he-

_she can't say his name_-

lied to me. And I found out from a fucking television."

"What?" he exclaims, anger filling his veins.

"Yeah. I was at the cleaner's, picking up suits and...I saw it on the crawl on the bottom of CNBC, you know, the thing that shows you all the major headlines? Well, that was the major headline in Chicago today, that the State's Attorney of Cook County cheated on his wife."

He grips the beer bottle tightly in frustration, trying not to shatter the glass with his fist.

"Leesh..." he starts, but doesn't know where he's going with it. "I'm so sorry."

_It's the only thing I can think of to say._

"I know," she replies quietly. "I know."

* * *

There's silence again, but it's more comfortable than awkward. He sits quietly as she cries a little more, and he says he'll stay on the phone with her until she falls asleep.

Will tells her more stories from voir dire, tells her about some of the associates at his firm, talks about basketball and baseball and this new beer he tried last week and basically anything he can think of that will get her mind out of the hell she's in.

It's thirty-five minutes later before she really speaks again.

"I'm so tired, Will..."

And he feels like she's _dying_ on the other end of the line, even though she's not, but he feels like she's been injured and he has to talk to her, keep her awake, keep her from letting the pain sink into her muscles and bones so she doesn't succumb to it.

But he knows she doesn't just mean she's physically tired; she's emotionally exhausted, spent.

"I have to go on tv with him tomorrow. I'm supposed to stand next to him during his press conference and pretend it's okay."

_She sounds scared._

"I don't know if I can do that, Will. I don't...I'm hurt..."

_This is the first time all night she's talked about herself._

"It'll be ok," he says, and even though he can't promise that, those words rest well in her soul.

* * *

_This isn't the Alicia I know._

That's the first thought that comes to mind when he sees her on television the next day.

Her hair doesn't look like it usually does; half of it is pulled back, half of it is down, but it exposes her entire face, making her look more vulnerable and weak, somehow, neither of which describe Alicia Florrick in the slightest.

She looks tired. Exhausted. He knows that expression-she's been crying but doesn't want anyone to know. Her eyes are slightly puffy and red, but only to the trained eye-a thin veil of makeup covers most of it. But it doesn't cover what a friendship of fifteen years can understand or know.

It doesn't lie to that place in his heart where he knows her.

And she's wearing a houndstooth jacket, which isn't really like her, either. He knows she's not much for patterns. She likes bold, solid colors that convey strength. Nothing to distract from that.

Will wonders if someone dressed her, or if she chose that jacket herself, needing something to distract from the fact that her strength was significantly diminished today.

"Good morning. An hour ago I resigned as state's attorney of Cook County. I did this with a heavy heart and a deep commitment to fight these charges. I want to be clear-I have never abused my office. I have never traded lighter sentences for financial or sexual favors. At the same time, I need to atone for my personal failings with my wife Alicia and our two children. Money used in these transactions was mine and mine alone. No public funds were ever utilized. But I do admit to a failure of judgment in my private dealings with these women. Alicia and I ask that the press please respect our privacy, give us time to heal. With the love of God and the forgiveness of my family, I know I can rebuild their trust. I want to thank the good people of Chicago-it has been an honor to serve you. And I pray that one day, I may be able to serve you again."

_Screw you, Peter. Screw you for making Alicia stand up there next to you as if it's her duty to support your personal failings._

He watches Alicia's hand-unsure exactly if she reaches for him or he for her, as they rush quickly offstage, her trailing behind, walking quickly, unsteady on her heels.

* * *

Will can't see what happens backstage, how she walks numbly down the hall, how she stops following Peter, staring at something else, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

Will doesn't hear him say "Hey, you all right?" to her, as if this is just some other public appearance or some other issue for which she is standing on the sidelines, silently supporting him, as if he didn't just announce his private failures in front of all of Chicago.

He doesn't see her slap his cheek, hard, without reservation, before she adjusts her jacket and walks down the corridor, leaving him behind.

He doesn't see her take a deep breath and march around the corner. But he can imagine-because the Alicia he knows doesn't take shit from anyone, especially not from the man to whom she devoted her life.

* * *

Will calls her again that night, when he gets home from the office. She sounds a little better today, somehow-a little less tired, or at least a little less raspy. She wants to hear about day two of voir dire.

When he's done talking, he pauses and waits to see if she continues the conversation. She doesn't immediately do so.

"Alicia?" he asks, making sure he has her attention.

"Hm?"

"This isn't your last chance at happiness. I just don't want you to think it is."

She nods, and somehow he can feel it, he can feel that she's nodding, and that she understands what those words mean, and that the tears that come now are an odd mixture of pain and relief, and she's finally, maybe, beginning to think she can do this, that she can get up tomorrow and brush her hair and put on real clothes and makeup and not hide under a blanket or in the shadow of Peter's failures and shortcomings as a husband.

* * *

That place in his heart where he knows her starts aching a little less.


End file.
